Meet the Feanorians
by Faerlan
Summary: Feanor and his dysfunctional brood crash Turgon's wedding, and when a certain hated Vala drops by uninvited, the fun really begins! Rated for some language, innuendo and drunken elf behavior. Ch.3 now up.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I own 0 of these characters (but the moronic situations belong to me)

To my reviewers:

Sadli'lsally - Thanks for the support, glad you enjoyed it!

Dawn Felagund - I've never hung out with drunk elves; would have loved to have been around after Feanor kicked back a few, though! My idea was that he had little or no respect for _anyone_, and the presence of alcohol would, of course, amplify that to the millionth power. Chapter 2 is on its way!

Summary: A drunken Feanor and Co. crash an otherwise lame wedding reception, and when a certain reviled Vala swings by uninvited, things go from bad to worse. Rated for language, innuendo (including slash) and much drunkenness. Wrote a lot of this after a rough day at work, so...

_"WIIIIIIFE!"_

Nerdanel rushed into the bedroom in a mad whirl of ruffled skirts. "What in blazes are you ranting about?" she exclaimed, quite irritable.

Feanor fumed as he regarded his dark, imposing outfit in the full-length mirror. "Where...is...my..._scabbard?_"

She snorted in disdain. "We're going to a _wedding, _dearest, not some frivolous showdown with your next of kin!"

Feanor shot his wife a righteously indignant look. "If I am to be dragged against my will to this insipid event, then at the very least I shall be prepared! Now wife, my sword and scabbard!" he commanded arrogantly, sticking his perfect nose in the air and dramatically extending his hand.

"Oh, shut up and put this on you lout!" Nerdanel spat, tossing him a diamond-studded choker before rushing out of the room to attend to her sons' own preparations.

Moments later, Feanor strode impatiently to the foot of the grand staircase. "Wife! Offspring!" he shouted in his most authoritarian voice, clapping twice rapidly for emphasis. "We leave for the wedding!" Abruptly, he turned on his diamond-studded heel and stalked out of the house, muttering darkly to himself.

The thunder of footsteps echoed off the walls as the small parade of young elves hurried down the steps.

"All right, hold 'yer horses, Pops!" Caranthir muttered under his breath, avoiding the reach of Maedhros's arm.

"Why the hell does he call us 'offspring'?" Celegorm quipped, stirring a round of snickers from his younger brothers, including the twins, who basically laughed at everything he said. Maedhros aimed a stiff slug at his head, glaring menacingly.

"I do hope he chooses to behave and not make a fool of himself," Maglor remarked quietly to his elder brother.

Maedhros sighed and gave him a pointed look. "Maglor. He's our _father,_" he retorted ruefully as he ushered the younger ones out of the door.

Anaire stood, unmoving, and stared out the window in horrified disbelief. "Fingolfin."

The harried father of the groom rushed into the room, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Now what?" he asked with irritation.

"They're here." Fingolfin followed her gaze and his expression matched his wife's.

There was a great deal of noise and commotion as the large carriage made its way up the road. In the driver's seat sat Feanor and Nerdanel, who were gesturing and bickering loudly in Quenya, oblivious to the chaos inside the carriage. Celegorm, Curufin and Caranthir were singing a purposefully loud and obnoxious version of "99 Bottles of Rum," laughing as they avoided repeated blows from a glowering Maedhros. The twins' high-pitched shrieks could be heard from where they wrestled on the carriage floor. Maglor sat huddled in one corner, plugging his ears and singing loudly to himself.

"Bloody hell," Fingolfin muttered, turning and stalking into the bathroom in search of a sedative.

Elenwe closed her eyes and made the backwards throw. The lavender bouquet sailed through the air above the many garlanded heads. Countless maidens (and not a few confused elf lads) squealed and tittered as they jostled and elbowed one another, jockeying for prime position in the midst of the large, garishly decorated hall.

Suddenly, a tall, blond maiden pushed her way through the throng, effectively clearing the way with her athletic strength and leaving many slender bodies in her wake. The bouquet landed softly in her strong hands. A great collective groan went up from the crowd. "Blasted she-man," one angry voice huffed.

"YES!" Galadriel exulted, beaming and pumping her fists into the air. Not far away, Celegorm and Curufin laughed derisively.

"Poor pathetic sap," Curufin remarked with amusement, nodding his head in the direction of their cousin's hapless lover, Celeborn, who currently was hiding behind a large yew tree.

"Talk about being strong-armed, look at the carnage!" Celegorm chuckled, shaking his head at the sight of several young elves helping one another up and shooting dirty glares in Galadriel's direction. The minstrels started up a merry tune, and many in attendance began to dance and frolic about the room, knocking about plates and goblets along the way. The newly married couple took advantage of the distraction to steal a little 'quality time' behind some thick bushes (way to go, Turgon!). Little Amrod and Amras skipped by, pulling processional rice out of each other's hair and then sticking it in each other's noses.

"This party really deteriorated fast," Curufin observed, wrinkling his nose in disdain at all the barefoot merriment. "So much for the Vanyarin notion of a good time! Mother and Father's fights are more fun than this," he complained.

"Not for long, not unless we give the proceedings a little helping hand," Celegorm murmured meaningfully, discreetly pulling him over to an elaborately decorated beverage table with a three-tiered punch bowl. "Did you bring it?" he whispered.

"What do _you _think?" Curufin whispered back, discreetly reaching into a small knapsack and retrieving a mysteriously veiled bottle. The brothers worked quickly and silently, emptying its potent contents into the bowl.

The pair could barely contain their devious mirth. "Are you certain about this?" Curufin whispered. "You know that Father can't hold his liquor, and his mood is already foul."

Celegorm grinned evilly. "Exactly, dear brother. So I advise you to sit back and enjoy the show!" Then the brothers tiptoed out of sight.

The roar of inane chatter and merry laughter echoed off the walls as the ravenous guests feasted on the bountiful buffet of gamehens, fruits, vegetables, cheeses, pastries, pheasant and sour taffy to top it all off. Each long banquet table provided a lively mixture of Vanyar and Noldor folk, with some Teleri and even a few Valar thrown in for good measure, all consuming equally astounding amounts of punch. At the head table, Fingolfin bit his nails anxiously and leaned over to his wife. The sedative had worn off shortly after the ceremony, and his entire body practically shook.

"This marriage had better take!" he whispered to her, eyes wide and darting around the hall. "He's our last hope for an heir and I'm at my wits' end!"

"Will you calm down, you ninny!" Anaire whispered back. "You'll break out in hives and give yourself an attack!"

"We need a grandson, Anaire!" Fingolfin hissed, unconsciously beginning to scratch under his heavily brocaded neck collar. "With our eldest son having chosen an..._alternative _path and Aredhel not yet of age, Turgon is my last chance for vindication! We cannot let the Evil Stepson succeed in supplanting our line!"

"Stop fidgeting, you're rattling my fine porcelain!" she chastised, slapping him on the knee. The resulting jerk of his leg caused significant clanging of glass and wine spillage, making them the target of many a nasty glare. "Do something, Fingolfin! Get up and make your speech!" she whispered nervously, giving her husband a hearty push.

Fingolfin stood up quickly, rather quickly, as he had to steady himself while waiting for the head rush to pass. He cleared his throat and raised his hand. "If I could have everyone's attention for a moment" he announced. But the raucous merriment continued, and in vain the elf tried to whistle and waved his arms like a madman. The questionable goings-on continued still, which included a rather heavy make-out session at the newlyweds' table. Shouts of _"chug! chug! chug!" _could be heard from the always noble House of Finarfin table where Galadriel and Finrod tried to best one another at a game of endurance.

Fingolfin shook his head in exasperation and turned to the quiet young elf on his right. "Findekano!" he commanded, snapping his fingers and pointing for him to stand.

Sighing, Fingon rose slowly and took a deep breath. "Everybody_ SHUT UUUUPP!" _he bellowed in a great voice.

All fell dead silent, save for the residual giggling of an inebriated Feanor and Nerdanel's whispered admonishings at the far end of the hall.

Fingolfin nodded his thanks at his son before facing his public. _Knew that boy would be good for something, _he thought. "My lords and ladies! Anaire and I want to thank you all for sharing this most anticipated and joyous and event with our family today," he began, trying desperately not to scratch beneath his collar. "I know you all share our feelings as I tell you how _anxiously _and _expectantly_ we await the first of what will be _many _grandchildren!" he said emphatically, staring pointedly in Turgon's direction. "Even Fingon can hardly wait to become a doting uncle to that first bundle of joy," he exclaimed, glancing dubiously at the slouching young elf.

"Good, maybe he'll find a hobby other than making midnight visits to my eldest son and waking the entire house!" shouted a cheerfully obnoxious voice, which was unmistakably Feanor's. Nerdanel slapped him on the arm. "Whaaat? Broken branches don't lie!" he retorted, taking a swig of his goblet.

A great murmur went up among the guests. Fingolfin clenched his fists and glared in Feanor's direction, his face growing hot. Both Fingon and Maedhros slouched deep in their seats, hiding their faces in embarrassment. Celegorm and Curufin nudged one another meaningfully, their eyes and mouths wide.

Fingolfin closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to control his temper and a potentially embarrassing hive outbreak. "As I was saying, we are all here tonight to honor the newly married couple, so let us make a toast!" he exclaimed, raising his glass and giving poor Fingon a strong nudge to stand up. _Boy, don't you dare make me look like a fool, _he thought anxiously, shooting him a warning look.

There was much clamor and scraping of chairs as the tittering party guests staggered to their feet. When at last all was calm (except for Feanor's idiotic giggling), Fingolfin proclaimed, "To the bride and groom! May their union be prosperous and everlasting, may they bring pride and honor to the family, and may their _numerous _offspring," he said emphatically, smiling pointedly at Turgon once more, "keep the mighty House of Fingolfin alive for years to come! Cheers!"

"Hear hear!" everyone yelled, merrily clinking glasses and downing the contents in one gulp. Turgon and Elenwe managed to unglue themselves from one another long enough to take a swig from their goblets before getting back at it again.

"_Whoooooo! _Well spoken, laddie!" Feanor crowed, clapping clumsily and rising unsteadily to his feet. "You know, in keeping with the spirit of merrying, or making out or whatever," he began, waving his hand dismissively, "I'd like to say a few words. Well, not just a few, 'cuz I got a lot to say to you people!" he giggled hysterically, trying to shake off Nerdanel's attempts to sit him down. "Heeyyyyyy, woman! Watch the hair," he whined belligerently, lazily pushing her away.

Fingolfin felt his temper rising again and rose to his feet, but Anaire held him back. "He's not going to make my son's wedding a laughingstock!" he hissed, struggling to free himself.

"Inviting them was _your _idea," she retorted through gritted teeth, tightening her grip. The hall had quieted considerably and all watched in dreadful anticipation as an extremely loaded Feanor swaggered around to the front of the table, goblet in hand.

"Well! First I just want to thank Fingolfin, the Supremely Inferior half-spawn, and his wife, Miss Holier-Than-Thou Anaire, for their generous hospitality," Feanor said loudly, smirking. "The ceremony was laborious, the dress and decorations were hideous, the bread was stale and oh yes, the meat was undercooked, which will ensure that not a single soul in this place shall sleep well tonight! Well done, half-brother!" he exclaimed, tipping his glass toward Fingolfin before taking a deep drink.

There was loud murmuring among the guests, and several made as if to walk over to confront Feanor, yet were restrained by a relative or someone else who was taking sadistic pleasure in watching this train wreck.

Feanor looked around him in disgust. "This is without a doubt, hands down, the _worst _party I've ever attended," he remarked. "I mean, sparring with the old lady is more exciting than this racket - hey, ice cream! Gimme some o'that!" he exclaimed, thrusting his goblet in the servant's face, who quickly dropped a scoop into his glass before scurrying over to where Feanor's family sat. Everyone, even a red-faced and itchy Fingolfin, seemed to welcome this pleasant diversion and soon began stuffing their faces.

"Oh, _nooooo_! 'Scuse me, sir! Hey, boy!" Feanor yelled to the servant, waving his arms. "None of that stuff for little Maglor, he's lactose intolerant!"

Everyone stopped eating just as quickly as they had begun, many with full mouths as evident by the sound of melted ice cream slapping the floor as it was spat out. Much snickering broke out, mostly from Celegorm, Curufin and Caranthir, which earned them a murderous glare from Maedhros. Maglor buried his face in his hands as a frazzled Nerdanel tried to console him.

"Mmmm-mm-mm!" Feanor smacked his lips after a long drink, wearing ice cream on his upper lip and chin. "You know, this bloody fantastic rum punch is the only thing making this torturous event bearable," he giggled, turning around and pointing to where his family sat. "And I've probably got my devilishly clever Celegorm and Curufin to thank for that!" His giggling increased at the wide-eyed, petrified looks frozen on his sons' faces, and he wagged his finger mockingly at them. "Yeesssss, little offspring, Daddy knows how naughty you've been! And tomorrow he's going to throttle you both within an inch of your lives!" he declared in a sing-song manner, laughing heartily at the thought. Celegorm and Curufin slunk deep in their seats, avoiding their mother's blazing eyes.

"Oh, what am I doing! _Hello_, Feanaro, you're supposed to be thanking people, not plotting your sons' deaths!" Feanor exclaimed cheekily, rolling his eyes and slapping his forehead.

"Oh, no," Fingolfin muttered, scratching his neck absently.

"Well, I would also like to thank my poor sap of a father, Finwe, who's been living in his own private hell ever since he took up with that..._homewrecker _and her brainless family," Feanor snorted, shaking his head in disdain. Finwe, sitting at Fingolfin's table, sighed and shook his head sadly while an icy Indis shot daggers at Feanor. "I mean, look what happened when they mated! You got Fingolfin the Wanna-Be and Finarfin the Soft!" he laughed derisively, pointing in their direction.

Fingolfin once again had to be restrained by Anaire, and now scratched his face earnestly. "Damn you, spawn of Miriel!" he shouted angrily. At another table, a weepy Finarfin was being gently rocked in his wife's arms. Celegorm's and Curufin's drunken laughter was only a few shades quieter than their father's.

Feanor, drunk beyond caring about the chaos he was creating, belched and blew Fingolfin a loud kiss. "Right back at you, slime of Indis!" he cooed loudly.

"Nevertheless," he continued, raising his glass toward Finwe, "we do owe the king a debt of gratitude, for by changing _one itty-bitty _consonant of our once-eloquent language, except in _my _noble house, he single-handedly reduced the mighty folk of Valinor to a bunch of blithering idiots!" he crowed, laughing riotously at his own joke. "Here's to you, Pops!" He gave Finwe a cheeky grin and downed another gulp of ice cream and punch mixture. Again Finwe sighed and shook his head.

Now there was much dissonance within the hall. In great frustration, Fingolfin shook his fists at the sky and mouthed, "Will you _please _kill him?"

Feanor shaded his eyes and squinted at something in the distance. "Crikey, are they _still_ going at it?" he exclaimed loudly, gesturing to the ever-amorous Turgon and Elenwe, who had stopped sucking face at the interruption and froze, eyes wide.

"Hey, who wants to wager that the first grandchild has already been conceived, eh? Atta boy!" Feanor laughed mischievously, winking at an extremely red-faced Turgon. Though pretending to appear outraged, Fingolfin secretly smiled in joyous triumph at the thought as everyone else threw a holy fit. Several Noldo men rose to their feet, clenching their fists. Most of the Vanya men just sulked in their seats, a la Finarfin.

"All right, all right, I have just one more thing I wanna say before I go vomit," Feanor pronounced, holding up two fingers. "I wanna propell...eh, proposition...I mean, _propose _a toast." He thrust his drinking arm into the air. "Come, come! Raise a glass!" he exclaimed, gesturing for all to join him. The angry Noldolis had walked out from behind their tables and stepped ever closer to the oblivious Feanor, who then spoke the following:

May the newly married couple have _no _sons and lots of hot daughters (naughty giggle),

May the Vanyar learn to cook a meal that doesn't make me violently ill,

May the Teleri compose a song that doesn't make me want to jump off a cliff,

"And!" Feanor paused dramatically, smiling with grim satisfaction. "May Morgoth the Supreme Slime burn in hell for all eternity! Bottoms up!" He tipped his head back and finished what remained in his goblet, stumbling backward and plopping into a nearby chair.

The place was in a total uproar. Celegorm and Curufin giggled deliriously while Nerdanel peppered her semi-conscious husband with an onslaught of curses.

Fingolfin was practically jumping up and down in fury. "_Now _will someone kill him!" he shrieked, scratching like mad.

The menacing sound of swords being drawn seemed to bring Feanor back to reality. "Aha! See now, wench! What did I tell you!" he screeched at Nerdanel, pointing accusingly at the many irate Noldolis pointing their swords at him. "I told you I should have come prepa-"

Sudden, rolling thunder cut him off and silenced all in the hall. Many gazed about with fearful eyes as the walls shook, the silverware clattered, why, even Turgon and Elenwe peeled themselves off of each other for three seconds.

There was a sudden, loud crash of dishes and cookware from the kitchen. "Whoa! That's gonna cost some shmuck a pretty penny!" came a laughing voice dripping with arrogant malice.

Fingolfin froze where he stood, his jaw dropping open in horror. "Oh, no. Please, no more...," he mumbled, slowly turning his wide-eyed gaze to where a tall, imposing shadow loomed in the archway:

"Hey, peeps, whaddup!"

TBC

A/N: A bit long for a comedy, but once I got Feanor's tongue loose, it was hard to stop! And yes, the degradation of Feanor's language from formal to slang was purposeful, as he is...drunk. Please let me know what you think!


	2. Bull in a China Shop

**Summary: **Morgoth shows up. Enough said.

"Curses and salutations, one and all!" The Vala spread his arms wide, surveying the room of horrified, angry faces. "Ouch!" he pouted, recoiling in mock offense. "What, no pathetic insults, no curses damning me to hell?" He let out a scornful, mocking laugh and exchanged a look with Sauron, who stood rigidly silent with hands clasped in front of him, regarding everyone with the deadly intent of a bouncer.

Shaking in earnest from head to toe, and redder in the face than a ripe tomato, Fingolfin fished frantically in his pocket for the other sedative he had brought as a precautionary measure, but both pockets were empty. He broke out into a cold sweat as the realization dawned on him: he had taken both pills during the ceremony!

Fingolfin gazed upon the hated intruder with wide, crazed eyes. "Get thee gone, evil gangrel! Your foul presence is NOT welcome here!"

"Now, Poppa Fingolfin, don't get 'yer panties in a bunch, you're already a mess," Morgoth scolded playfully, as if placating a small child. "And tell your minions to put away those sorry extensions of their manhood!" He gestured to the many Noldo men still gripping their swords menacingly. "I've only come to pay my respects," he explained, giving a mocking bow.

Feanor, meanwhile, was blissfully unaware of what was going on, as he had passed out right after his drunken rant and lay slumped in a chair, snoring soundly with goblet cradled against his chest.

"Holy Eru!" Morgoth suddenly became giddy with excitement and grabbed Sauron by his black leather lapel. "I just realized that, like, _everyone _on my Top Ten 'To Kill' list is here!" he tittered, literally bouncing with glee. "Pinch me, this has to be a dream come true!" he gushed, in a decidedly un-Vala-like manner.

Bug-eyed Fingolfin raised a shaky arm, leveling it at Morgoth like a spear. "Leave now, Cursed One! You shall pay for the damage you have caused here!"

Morgoth suddenly sobered and cocked his head thoughtfully. "Oh, you mean the kitchen? Aww, come _on_, is anyone home in that empty noggin of yours?" he retorted, rolling his eyes. "That meat was totally rancid, luv! I _had _to trash the place!" he explained dismissively, as if the action was a simple no-brainer, while mortified gasps filled the air.

"But _this_ on the other hand," the Vala paused, snatching a half-full goblet from an unsuspecting young Vanya male and taking a deep drink, licking his lips in satisfaction, "is the only thing keeping me from burning this joint to a crisp! Thanks, luv," he said off-handedly, casually tossing the goblet back to the poor young 'un and sending bright crimson liquid everywhere. "Oops! Never wear silky lingerie to a social event," he mockingly chastised the shocked victims of the assault. A discreet nudge from Sauron made him stop and gaze in the Maia's direction.

"_Awwwwww, _look at the fornicating couple!" Morgoth gushed sarcastically, clasping his hands together as he ga_z_ed with ill intent on Turgon and Elenwe. "Wait, don't move! I'll come to you!" With that, the Vala impatiently pushed his way through to the head table like a charging bull:

_THUD!_

"Excuse me!"

_BANG! SMASH!_

"Sorry about that!"

_"Owww!" "Hey!"_

"Move it, worms!"

At last Morgoth stood towering before the newlyweds. Fingolfin, bloated and blistery though he was, stood also, trying to look as threatening as one could with a swollen face and bulging eyes. A seriously pissed off Turgon rose to his feet, shielding a blushing Elenwe.

"Poppa, look at you." Morgoth shook his head condescendingly at Fingolfin. "Relax before your ugly head explodes!" Then he smirked in great satisfaction and stepped around the table next to Turgon. "And here's the young stud!" he exclaimed, wrapping his arm around Turgon in a near-death grip. "Ready to take the long journey of marriage and kids and...all that crap!" he waved his hand dismissively. "And with a _Vanya _breed at that! Very brave!"

A choked sob came from one end of the table.

Morgoth rolled his eyes. "Cut it out, Finarfin! No one can take any more gentle sobbing! Is it that time of the month or something?" he looked at a stricken Earwen, on the verge of tears herself. "Boy, the question is not 'who wears the pants in that family,' it's 'who doesn't wear a _skirt _in that family'!" he murmured derisively in Turgon's ear. Trapped in the evil Vala's headlock, poor Turgon could only glare angrily up at him.

Morgoth laughed suddenly. "Hey, you know something?" he exclaimed, pinching Turgon's cheek. "Out of all you worms in this land that grovel under my glorious feet, _this _little worm," he emphasized, tousling Turgon's hair, "is the only one that, deep in my black heart, scares the _living hell _out of me!" He laughed again, a high-pitched, deranged sound no doubt an effect of the punch's 'secret ingredient.'

"I mean, every time I look at the little cretin I just get _chills_!" the Vala prattled on. "And I get this totally yucky feeling of dread like he's going to be my downfall or something!" he chuckled heartily as if discussing the latest gossip. He let out a wistful sigh and fixed his gaze on Fingolfin. "What do you make of it, Poppa?"

Definitely at a code red, Fingolfin could only spit out an incoherent curse.

Morgoth rolled his eyes and released Turgon with sudden force, practically shoving him into a chair. "Oh, stop whining, you should be proud of your boys! One's marrying a hot blonde and the other's got the hots for a shapely redhead!" He snorted derisively, clearly relishing the angry chaos he was creating.

Maedhros ran out of the hall in a silent fury. Fingon sat in grim thought as he studied the blade of his cutting knife.

Morgoth smiled crookedly, as well as a drunken Vala could, down at Turgon. "Ah well, no matter. Still going to kill you anyway."

Suddenly a loud shout of rage pierced the air and all eyes shifted to the corner where it had come from: Feanor, wide-eyed and very conscious, stood atop the table, holding aloft a small hunting knife and glaring at Morgoth.

_"Death to tyrants!" _he yelled, leaping wildly off of the table and falling clumsily into several guests. Nerdanel and Maglor rushed to the scene as Celegorm and Curufin held their sides with laughter.

"Hey, _I _started that dark, evil look!" Morgoth exclaimed, pointing accusingly at Feanor. "And he looks like crap wearing it! Faker!" He brushed away Sauron's attempts to pull them away.

Amazingly, Feanor regained his footing and pushed everyone off, setting his sights on Morgoth. _"Death to tyrants!" _he screamed again, breaking into a clumsy sprint with knife in hand and many elves right behind him.

Morgoth sighed petulantly. "Oh, all right. Let's split." Then he and Sauron disappeared in a thick, black fog. Unfortunately Feanor and his gang stumbled into the haze and they crashed right into the seven-tiered wedding cake. Everyone winced audibly, and no one was in a hurry to go help them up.

"He ruined my cake!" Finarfin cried piteously, his gentle sobbing starting anew.

Moments later, Nerdanel and her sons scurried in the dark as they carried a frosting-covered, unconscious Feanor back to the carriage. Celegorm and Curufin, of course, were of little help in their idiotic state.

"Will you hurry up!" A fuming Maedhros hissed at them. "Somebody hold his head!"

"Ewwww, no, it's got egg frosting all over it!" Celegorm squealed, gingerly pinching a piece of Feanor's hair between his thumb and index finger.

"Shut up and do it! You're in enough trouble already!" Maedhros snapped, moving them faster.

"Ugh, he reeks!" Curufin grimaced, turning his head away as they finally made it to the carriage. Quickly they shoved the body into the car and hopped in before Fingolfin and his minions could find them.

The Next Morning...

"Uuuuggghhhhh." There was the muffled sound of gagging and a toilet flushing.

Celegorm, grimacing in pain, pounded on the door. "Curufin! Aren't you done yet? You've been in there for half an hour!"

There was a thud and a groan from within. "Gee, I'm only near death! Leave me alone," came the weak reply.

"Well, I'm dying too!" Celegorm moaned, holding his stomach and slouching against the wall. Just then Caranthir came running down the hall, looking as green in the gills as his brothers:

"I need the bathroom now."

Celegorm shook his head. "This one's taken. Go to the downstairs room."

"The twins are in there."

Celegorm rolled his eyes. "Then go use the guest room."

"Maglor's in there." Caranthir was practically dancing in place.

"Well, you're not getting this one!" Celegorm retorted, pushing him away. "Go out into the yard or something."

With a whimper, Caranthir put one hand over his mouth and ran back down the hall.

In the master bedroom, a seriously hung-over Feanor burrowed under the bedcovers as Nerdanel bustled about and read him the Riot Act:

"Never in our many years of marriage have I been so humiliated..."

Feanor moaned and pushed his face into the pillow. "Go away."

Nerdanel walked over and slapped the lifeless form under the bed. "How could you do that to Fingolfin and his wife!"

"Go away, wife!" Feanor yelled into the pillow, covering his ears. _I shall kill those whelps when I'm sober_, he thought darkly.

"Yet perhaps there is a chance to make amends," Nerdanel mused, plopping down on the bed and ignoring the groan that issued from under the blankets. She looked down at her husband. "You will invite them to dinner at our home."

A bleary eye peeked out from under a tangled mass of black hair. "I will do _no _such thing," Feanor snarled.

Nerdanel chuckled merrily and slapped him again before rising to her feet. "Oh yes, you will, dearest."

Finally, Feanor yanked the covers off of his head. "What madness is driving thee, woman! I shall wear pink before I ever welcome that _half-spawn _and his wench into my home!" he spat, promptly huddling back under the blankets.

Nerdanel paused by the door and smiled. "You _will _invite Fingolfin and Anaire to dinner, my love, or else _all _extracurricular bedroom activities shall cease and desist indefinitely," she replied breezily before exiting and slamming the door behind her.

Suddenly Feanor sat up like he had been shot out of a cannon, his eyes bulging frightfully out of his head.

**TBC?**

**A/N:**Yikes! Hadn't really planned to do another chapter but the idea of a nice family dinner just struck me as loaded with possibilities. Morgoth turned out cheesier than I had planned, but then it's a comedy not a drama. Please let me know if I should go on with the next chapter!


	3. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

**Summary: **Fingolfin and the missus bury the hatchet with Feanor at a lovely sit-down dinner...yeah, on _Mars_! Featuring a blinding cameo appearance by the Silmarils.

**To my beloved reviewers: **You guys are awesome, thank you, thank you! I hope this last installment will not disappoint :).

Fingolfin glared up at the dark, imposing house. Sufficating smoke belched forth from its chimneys, causing him to cough and sputter. He muttered an intelligible curse, and his fingers twitched animatedly. He was about to shove them into his trusty 'ole pocket when-

_SLAP!_

He let out an angry yelp, shooting a dirty look at his wife as he rubbed his hand. "I wasn't searching for pills, if that's what you're thinking," he said moodily. "Before we left I took one...and a half," he mumbled to himself, absently scratching a lotion-covered patch of inflamed skin.

Anaire linked her arm snugly through her husband's. "And there will be no more from now on," she replied, batting his hand away from the infected area.

Fingolfin's eyes went wide. "What do you mean, from now on?"

"Oh, I threw the rest out with the garbage," she remarked breezily, "and I told the healer to discontinue your prescription." She patted his bumpy, greasy cheek and steered them toward the massive double obsidian doors.

Fingolfin recoiled in horror. "Cursed thrall of Morgoth! Who are you and what have you done with my wife?" he hissed.

Anaire jerked him back toward the house and they ascended the steps. "Stop being so paranoid! You need to learn to control yourself...and it's the least we can do for poor Nerdanel who offered to have us in the first place."

"An invitation I was _coerced _into accepting," Fingolfin muttered under his breath as they finally stopped in front of the doors. He held his breath and willed himself not to scratch as Anaire rang the bell.

The loud howling of hounds nearly made them jump out of their skins. From within, a resonant female voice, obviously Nerdanel's, commanded someone to answer the door, which was met with varying degrees of high-pitched, whiny rebukes. The woman's voice spat some harsh, unintelligible reprimands, followed by the clatter of silverware and furniture, and then at last the door opened:

"Ah, welcome Fingolfin, Anaire! Please come in." When the wide-eyed couple stood frozen to the spot, Nerdanel cajoled, "Come now, we don't bite!"and ushered them into the entryway. They nearly gaped; Feanor's house was every bit as imposing and obnoxiously lavish as the outside, with wood-paneling, fur-covered floors and various hunting "prizes" mounted on the walls. Smack dab in the middle was an elegant bronze statue of, who else, but the man of the house.

At that moment Maglor came running down the stairs looking quite nervous. "Ah...Maedhros says he'll not come down tonight," he stammered, averting his eyes.

Nerdanel glanced sharply at him. "Yes he will, it is not an option," she retorted.

Maglor's eyes widened. "But Mother, he's locked his door and will not answer anyone's calls!"

She took a deep breath and raised her index finger at her son. "You tell him that he _will _come down to dinner, or I'll feed his genitals to the hounds!" she snapped. Maglor turned and ran back up the stairs like he'd seen a ghost.

Nerdanel sighed and smiled apologetically at the shell-shocked couple. "Kids!" she shook her head ruefully, throwing her hands up into the air. "Well, I hope you've brought your appetites, the cooks have prepared quite a feast," she chirped, leading them into the grand dining room. Suddenly her smile fell as she looked closely at Fingolfin. "Dear Valar, Fingolfin, you look dreadful! What happened?"

Fingolfin smiled grimly and began to speak. "What happened? I'll tell you what happened! Your-"

"Actually, he suffered an outbreak three days ago, at the reception," Anaire quickly interjected. "It was all very stressful for him, you know," she added with a chuckle.

Nerdanel joined in. "Well, he's definitely very brave, to be leaving the house looking the way he does," she remarked, "if Feanor's face looked like that I'd put a bag over his head!" The women chuckled again, and Fingolfin could only give a wan smile, gritting his teeth hard. "Where is that husband of mine?" Nerdanel mused with irritation, bustling about the room. "Feanaro!" she called.

The sound of angry shouting from a nearby room silenced her. Worried, she head over to the study and peeked in.

Feanor, dressed garishly in a purple satin kimono, stood at the edge of the balcony, obviously upset. "It's not _my _fault the smoke kills your flowers! I _told _you I wanted a fifty-foot wall on the property line!" he shouted across a considerable distance, pounding the railing for emphasis. An equally irate voice answered back, and then he yelled, "well, you know what? No one cares about your stupid, puny garden, so why don't you just _DROP...DEAD!_"

He stalked off the balcony and slammed the double doors behind him. "Damn old fart," he muttered, turning to face a full-length mirror.

Nerdanel rolled her eyes and sighed with relief. "Darling, I do wish you would continue your petty little feud with my father on another day. Our guests have arrived."

Feanor smirked at his reflection. "Have they? I shall come out to greet them shortly." He turned to retrieve something from a small iron chest as she closed the door.

"Come, come, sit," Nerdanel ushered the hesitant couple into their seats at the large dining table. "He'll be right out. I shall summon the children." With that, she walked over to the foot of the staircase, took a breath, and gave an ear-splitting whistle.

Fingolfin groaned and rubbed his temples. He had developed a terrible headache from restraining all his rage thus far, and the thundering of footsteps that now followed Nerdanel's cattle call did not help things at all.

"Don't touch it! You'll get that cream all over your fingers!" Anaire hissed, swatting his hands.

Fingolfin batted her off. "My skull is _screaming_," he complained, discreetly wiping his hands on the edge of the linen tablecloth. Suddenly he spied Maglor heading into the kitchen, holding a white bottle and a small drinking glass. Getting an idea, he stood to follow him. "I'm going to get a drink of water. Save my seat," he said to Anaire, patting her hand.

Slowly, Fingolfin pushed the kitchen door open, trying to make as little noise as possible. He watched Maglor open the small bottle and empty two blue tablets into his palm, then fill the glass half-full with water. Fingolfin smirked and stepped closer. "What have you there, my boy?" he asked conspiratorily.

Maglor started and nearly dropped the glass. "Ah, you startled me, Uncle," he chuckled, looking somewhat embarrassed. "Actually, I'm just, uh...well, taking a little something that will make the evening more bearable, you might say," he explained, suddenly cocking his head at Fingolfin. "Um, what happened to your fa-"

"Oh, don't mind me," Fingolfin smiled, gazing at the pills with intense interest. "What are they, exactly?" he asked politely, stepping ever closer.

"A combination pain reliever and sedative, really," Maglor replied before tipping his head back and washing the pills down with the water.

"You don't say." Fingolfin's eyes glinted greedily, now standing right beside his nephew. He slung an arm around his shoulders and whispered, "Say, would you mind sharing with your old uncle? My head is killing me, and who knows how long this night is going to last!"

Maglor's eyes widened at Fingolfin's expression. "Well, uh, no, I'm sorry, uncle, I can't," he stammered nervously, "see, they were prescribed specifically-"

"Ah, come now, what's the hurt in giving away a few?" Fingolfin tightened his grip on the elf's shoulder while the other hand twitched violently. "Be a good lad and give your uncle a few," he commanded gently, his eyes growing wider and more crazed as he stared at the bottle.

Maglor recoiled and pulled his hand away. "No, uncle."

Finally Fingolfin exploded. "Give me the pills!" he hissed as his free hand latched onto the bottle in a death grip.

"Uncle, no!" Maglor cried as he tried in vain to wrestle the bottle from his deranged uncle. "Someone help!" he yelled to the ceiling.

"Shut up, you little pansy!" Fingolfin spat as he yanked the bottle away, the motion sending Maglor backwards into the wall. With a muted cry of triumph, Fingolfin frantically shook out four tablets and downed them with the remaining water in the glass. He sighed contentedly and smiled down at his mortified nephew. "Let's just keep this between you and me," he whispered before walking out.

Anaire looked worried as a very smug Fingolfin strolled over to the table. "Is everything all right? I heard a commotion."

"Oh, everything's just fine," he replied dismissively, sliding into his seat. "The boy was struggling with a jar and needed a...helping hand." He smiled and kissed Anaire on the cheek, not caring that some lotion got on her skin nor caring about her annoyed reaction to it. He sighed and examined his nails. _Now _tonight would be halfway bearable!

(A/N: Of course, had Fingolfin bothered to read the fine print on the bottle, he would have noted that the pills can interact with other medications and may produce delightful side effects including: _headache, heart palpitations, profuse sweating, vomiting, delirium and hallucinations_).

A great deal of clamor announced the arrival of Caranthir and the twins, who shrieked upon seeing Fingolfin and ran to Nerdanel crying, "Monster, monster!" At the same time, Maglor entered from the kitchen with his head down, sullen and his chin quivering. He took the seat farthest away from Fingolfin, not daring to look up.

"Hush now, little angels, it's not a monster, it's your uncle!" Nerdanel consoled them. "What's with you?" she asked Maglor with some irritation, who shook his head and waved his hand dismissively, staring at the silverware. She sighed with exasperation and glared at Caranthir standing by the entryway. "Where is your father?"

Caranthir rolled his eyes skyward, suddenly jerking as a mysterious hand slapped him from behind. He took a breath and announced, "All rise in the presence of the Supreme Cosmic Genius!"

"Oh, bloody hell," Nerdanel muttered, smilingsheepishly at Fingolfin and Anaire. "He does this _every_ time we have company."

Finally, Feanor appeared in the doorway, his arms outspread in an arrogant display. His purple satin robe flowed to the floor, and the brilliant Silmarils shone like laserbeams, with one hanging on a chain from his neck, one adorning his belt and the third bound to his brow. Everyoneshrunk instantly from the sudden assault to their eyes, squinting and shading them as though staring into the sun.

"The White Menace!" Feanor's sons whispered simultaneously, exchanging glances of dread.

"Welcome, welcome, a thousand welcomes!" Feanor exclaimed in a booming voice, stepping down and up to the table. "Good evening half-brother Fingolfin, Mrs. Fingolfin," he continued, putting his fingertips together and giving a slight, though mocking, bow. "Come to see how the other half lives, eh? Catch a glimspe of high society?" He smirked, raising his brows at a disapproving Nerdanel.

Anaire instinctively grasped her husband's arm, only to find it remarkably limp. She glanced suspiciously at Fingolfin, who seemed unusually mellow, his usually bulging eyes half-lidded.

Suddenly Feanor burst out laughing. "By the gods, half-brother, you look terrible! What gives?"

Fingolfin gave a wan smile. "Hive attack. What gives with the spiny cactus hairdo?" he volleyed back, snickering.

The smirk of Feanor's face abruptly disappeared. "Egg frosting. Not quite all of it has come out," he retorted coolly, glancing sharply to his left at the sound of snickering. "But I digress. Please, sit, make yourselves at home," he gestured for all to pull up their chairs. The moment they did, two servants rushed in and began cramming the table with enough food to feed a grandstand crowd. Fingolfin and Anaire exchanged a glance; no pleasantries, no "grace," just a lavish gorgefest. They shrugged and happily joined in the gorging. Hey, it _was _a free meal!

Feanor momentarily lifted his head above the action. "Where is Nelyo?" he asked, looking over at Nerdanel. "Wife, I told you to order him to come down tonight-"

"And here he is now," Nerdanel interrupted his tirade, smiling gratefully as a brooding, gloomy Maedhros walked, head down, into the room and over to his seat on Feanor's righthand side. He landed in his chair with a moody thud and promptly snatched the bread basket out of Caranthir's hand. "Good evening aunt, uncle," he muttered, throwing food onto his plate.

Anaire gave a weak smile; Fingolfin, clearly in the beginnings of a medicated haze, saluted him with his wine glass before slowly tipping it into his mouth. "Whoa, that was slow-motion. Weird," he giggled, waving his fingers in front of his eyes. "Whoooooooo," he cooed, waving them in front of Anaire's face.

Feanor closely regarded Maedhros, chewing lazily on a wad of meat. "It's about time you showed up, Nelyo. 'Tis good to get your mind off of yourself for a change." He looked over at Maglor, not seeing Maedhros's withering glare. "How about some music, eh? Kanafinwe, go play one of your new pieces for our guests," he commanded breezily, gesturing over to a large harp and ignoring Nerdanel's reproachful look.

Maglor froze in mid-chew, eyes wide. "But Father, I've only begun eating-" he protested.

"Kano." The thinly veiled threat in Feanor's low tone made everyone stop and look over at Maglor. With the melodramatic flair typical of a true "ar_tiste_," Maglor carefully set his silverware down and rose gracefully from his seat, looking on the verge of tears. He sniffed loudly as he walked over to his instrument, then finally sat down, let out a long-suffering sigh, and began to work his magic with slender fingers. With a satisfied smirk, Feanor's chest puffed up once more as he took a long drink from his glass.

"Where are the others? Celegorm and Curufin?" Anaire ventured tentatively.

There was a round of snickering from the young 'uns, even Maedhros smirked. Feanor smacked his lips and gazed serenely into the distance. "They are presently carrying out the terms of their...sentence," he said calmly. Suddenly the sound of a toilet flushing echoed from above, and he chuckled merrily. "Ah yes, they must be fulfulling their janitorial duties at the moment."

Anaire's eyes widened incredulously. "You mean they're cleaning the bathroom? At half past eight?"

Feanor's eyes glazed over in evil delight. "Bath_rooms_, my lady.They've experienced rather...heavy usage this past week." He laughed again and took another drink. "I should imagine they will finish in time to have their evening meal of gruel and water," he added off-handedly. He noticed Fingolfin gaping at him with wide, wild eyes and frowned. "What in blazes are you gawking at?"

Fingolfin lifted a trembling finger and leaned over to his wife. "Look! You see that? He has snakes growing out of his head!" he whispered fearfully, cowering behind her.

"You speak to me thus in my own house, half-brother?" Feanor demanded, growing irritated.

"Stop that! What's the matter with you?" Anaire whispered, swatting Fingolfin on the arm. "He's still quite tired from the wedding. He meant nothing by it," she explained dismissively, pretending not to hear Caranthir's muffled muttering of the word, "junkie."

"You know," Nerdanel interjected brightly, "watching Turgon and his lovely bride's behavior at the wedding reminded me so much of our own courtship and wedding," she mused wistfully, looking over at her husband.

Feanor snorted. "Plus the fact that your old man nearly disowned you when he discovered _why _we were marrying."

Nerdanel blushed. Anaire smiled quizzically. "I don't understand."

"Are you dense, woman? She had a bun in the oven!" Feanor retorted, jerking his thumb towards Maedhros, now as red-faced as his mother. "Of course, we were very young then. I had no idea of just how fertile she would be," he added, smirking salaciously at his wife. Nerdanel gasped and slapped him playfully on the arm, letting out a girlish giggle. Everyone else pretended not to see this embarrassing display.

"People are trying to eat, you know," Maedhros grumbled, glaring at them both. "And I don't think aunt and uncle are interested in hearing your disgusting sex stories."

Suddenly Fingolfin jerked, drawing his knees up to his chest and gaping in some vague direction. "Did you see that wall move?" he hissed at Anaire, clutching the tablecloth in a white-knuckled grip.

Anaire shook him by the shoulders. "What is wrong with you tonight?" she whispered, staring into his extremely dilated pupils. _He'shigher thana bloody kite_, she thought, her eyes narrowing in growing anger.

Fingolfin recoiled from her. "Are...are you an assassin?" he whispered fearfully. Anaire shook her head and gestured vaguely. "I do apologize. My husband is obviously not himself tonight."

Feanor straightened in his chair and glared at Fingolfin. "It's all right, Anaire. I think I know the _real _reason for your husband's unacceptable behavior." He leaned forward on his elbows and jutted his chin out. "We may as well stop beating around the bush, half-brother. Let's just get it out into the open. We all know that your son Fingon chased my eldest because of _jealousy_!"

All fell silent, even Maglor stopped playing. Maedhros dropped his head into his hands. "Oh, Eru, don't start," he mumbled.

Some small degree of sanity must have struck Fingolfin for he sat up in his chair and focused his gaze on Feanor. "_What _did you say?"

Feanor smirked and sat up straighter than the spiky hairs on his head. "That's right. Look at my Nelyo," he boasted, gesturingto Maedhros. "The fairest in all the land, and shapely in every sense of the word. Why, he could have any female he desires, be she elf, Maia or Vala! He was not named 'well-formed copper' for nothing. Your son only _wishes _he had such beauty! Now he's trying to smear _my _Nelyo's reputation!"

Fingolfin leaned forward on his elbows, his smile deranged. "I've got two words for you, Fire-boy: _keep dreaming_."

Feanor sneered and leaned in closer. "And here's my reply, Crater-face: _sour grapes!_"

"Can't you shut up!" Maedhros finally exploded, shooting out of his seat and rattling the silverware. "Why do you always have to be such a jerk?" he yelled at a startled Feanor. "_I hate you, I hate this place!_" With that, he stormed out and thundered up the stairs, followed by the predictable slam of a door. Thespooked hounds promptly began howling.

Feanor stood and pointed accusingly at Fingolfin. "This is all your fault!" he exclaimed angrily. "How could you invite _them _into our home?" he yelled at Nerdanel.

Finally the dam burst. Nerdanel shot up and yelled back at her husband, the twins began howling along with the hounds, and Caranthir began to gleefully sing that stupid "99 Bottles of Rum" song at the top of his lungs.

Fingolfin recoiled in horror and flattened himself against the nearest wall. "Snakes! Snakes! Get them off!" he shrieked, frantically pulling at his hair and clothes. Giving another maniacal shriek, he turned and ran through the room and out of the house, with Anaire right behind.

And so they fled the dark, imposing house of smoke and chaos. Anaire dared one last glance over her shoulder. Through the window, she could see Feanor and Nerdanel fiercely making out atop the disheveled table, while the twins screeched in disgust and ran from the room covering their eyes. She shuddered, vowing never again to step foot inside that forsaken house, when Fingolfin's blood-curdling screams shocked her back to reality:

_"The poison fills my blood! I don't wanna die! MOMMYYYYYYY!"_

THE END

A/N: Sorry it took so long to update. I've had to share my laptop with family members as of late. Poor Fingolfin and Maglor, I know they got the most merciless treatment, but they're too cute to resist! Turned out longer than I thought, but am considering writing a short companion piece about Celegorm and Curufin's "punishment" (he he he)...please tell me what you think!


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